


my career in empire building will be over

by Anonymous



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: If Sanghyuk's chair was a few centimeters closer, their knees would be touching.





	my career in empire building will be over

**Author's Note:**

> literally who are these ppl...........i don't remember anymore ..........ambiguous setting/nothing happens.txt pls enjoy 
> 
> title from [here](http://oofpoetry.tumblr.com/post/125560151805/i-our-kiss-is-a-secret-handshake-a-password).

Sanghyuk doesn't remember what they gave him to drink. It was fruity, made with the kind of cloyingly sweet juice that Americans seemed so fond of, and tasted faintly of how rubbing alcohol smells. He only knows that after the first cup, the second one goes down much easier, and that by the third, he no longer tastes the vodka. His mouth is sticky and he can't stop licking at his upper lip, where a smear of cranberry juice feels like it's congealed. 

On the other side of the room, Hoseong and Junsik are dancing with two female Riot employees while Jaewan looks on, using his phone to film them with one hand and holding a shrimp cocktail in the other. There are still remnants of the SKT tattoo on Junsik's cheek, though he's mostly sweated it off by now. The last time he saw Coach Jeonggyun was walking out to the smoking porch with one of Samsung's coaches, hanging onto each other and stumbling as they walked. Jeonghyun is seated against the wall, nursing an American beer by himself. Sanghyuk is—

Sanghyuk is tripping over his feet. Someone catches him around the arm. 

"Hyung, why do you look so confused?" Seongu says, childlike exuberance obvious in his voice. His hand tugs at the sleeve of Sanghyuk's worlds jacket, pulling the collar of his SKT shirt down with it. "You should be happy!" 

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," Sanghyuk says.

Seongu stops jostling him. "Oh. Let's get some air." 

There's another porch, one that's off-limits to the smokers, just a few chairs and a potted plant that look out onto an alley. Sanghyuk is unceremoniously deposited into one of them and he tilts his head back. The night air isn't quite cool in Los Angeles, but it's better than it was during the day. 

"Here, drink some water," a voice says from the doorway. 

When Sanghyuk leans up, Seongwoong is holding a bottle out for him. His hair is mussed and Sanghyuk remembers how he'd looked earlier when they all danced with Coach Jeonggyun on stage, an awkward array of limbs in some attempt at a conga line. "This is why you don't have a wife," Seongwoong had shouted at Jeonggyun. 

Sanghyuk takes the bottle. Their fingertips brush and Sanghyuk's heart does not skip a beat, but mostly because he's too busy trying to breathe through a wave of nausea to notice it. He'd thought he was a better drinker than this, but his experience ranges from drinking wine in Spain for All-Stars and sharing a Cass with his dad after all his other family members had gone to sleep. 

"Don't tell me you're already thinking about how to win next year," Seongwoong says. 

"I'm thinking about not throwing up on my new jacket," Sanghyuk says. This makes Seongwoong laugh, and Sanghyuk smiles reflexively. 

If Sanghyuk's chair was a few centimeters closer, their knees would be touching. Sanghyuk rolls the water bottle over his thigh, condensation wetting his palm, and thinks about reaching out, closing that distance. He wonders if Seongwoong would hug him without the immediate thrill of winning to propel him forward. 

These are self-indulgent thoughts, the kind that Sanghyuk usually relegates to the back of his mind because these thoughts, not about the game and not about improving himself in any way, are not useful to him. But Sanghyuk is a little drunk and still happy in that way that makes his chest feel tight. He doesn't have it in him to push them away. 

This is what he allows himself—the thought of reaching out for Seongwoong's hand, and Seongwoong reaching back.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: bengi / faker + balcony + protectiveness


End file.
